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"Is this liberation ? " I muse, reclining upon the expansive and picturesque prairies, my gaze fixated on the night sky adorned with an abundance of stars akin to bioluminescent droplets. Observing the celestial waves flowing effortlessly in the galactic stream, I ponder, " Have I arrived at the coveted stage of serenity, the inner peace ?" Throughout my existence, I harboured no desire for stasis, to be confined within defined spaces, specific cities, amidst a particular company. For me, a dream, a passion represents emancipation- a liberation not solely from physical confines but from the chains within my psyche. I’m a human being, an entity breathing and pulsating with life, fortunate to be bestowed with existence. As long as I tread upon this earthly realm, my quest is to live by my dictums, guided by my unique principles, employing this distinctive mind of mine- this intellect with which I presently express and articulate. As the eminent thinker and scientist René Descartes philosophically proclaimed, " I think, therefore I am. " One particular destined day, it is meant for me to depart, set forth to see what’s in store for me, unravel the mysteries that await me, somewhere , everywhere. I feel it is not meant for me to be in a certain place for long. I belong to the winds, I’ve surrendered my soul to the drifting clouds long ago and entrusted my heart to the migratory birds until my return to reclaim what is rightfully mine. Spending a day wandering through the forsaken cities, endeavouring to listen to the tales the crumbling edifices wish to convey- the empty and desiccated wells, the relics of past lives left by people- broken refrigerators, rusting bicycles, and the abandoned and unfortunate toys of children- all yearning to speak of bygone days, of the days that are long gone but are not yet forgotten. While listening to these stories, reconciling with the reality of now, the present denizens of these towns- the coyotes, squirrels, rattlesnakes, wildness incarnate, and above all, the ghosts, and thus, ghost towns. Then, to spend the night in a Mexican carnival, dancing and singing amongst strangers in a diminutive town, absorbing the folktales narrated by the indigenous folk until dawn signals its arrival through the sweet melodies of chirping birds. Some days roaming in less-trodden places and alleys, talking to strangers, helping people, chirping, laughing, the other days, trying to decipher the language of the other cultures- visiting Temples, Mosques, Churches, Jinjas, Buddhist temples, synagogues, Sikh Gurudwaras and shrines- not to affiliate with any particular religion, but to capture the essence of human spirits within. I’m not structured in a way where I have a schedule to complete deadlines, have obligatory coffee breaks and need a break to even breathe. I desire to live my life my way - the way it ought to be originally- the way which I ordain for myself and nobody else. I yearn to soar, to sprint, to roam unburdened by the weight of the past, the commitments of the present, and the non-existent yet palpable anxieties of the future. I am a wanderer in heart and soul. As enchanting and mysterious as it may sound, it is an unconventional path, nearly impossible to tread. However, since my heart and soul have seized the reins of my existence, aided by the brain, I shall endeavour not to be swayed by conventional norms, irrational beliefs, and unhealthy societal standards. " The ones who wander are lost " is a common adage. I am lost . Lost in the rhythms of the celestial music that "graces" my ears. Lost to the harshness of the world, detached from the realities of this earth, and unaffected by the opinions of people. I value my way of life and have no wish for the bustling world to squander its precious time contemplating my existence. It's all but a fleeting moment- yesterday was ashes, today is a blaze, tomorrow a mere spark. Ultimately, I reach at my final destination- somewhere uncharted, a petite wooden abode, nestled at the heart of nowhere, honey-coloured armchairs, telling of the long passage of time, of the truth tends to be forgotten amidst bustling cities, somewhere in the nowhere of the Japanese countryside. The garden looks as if it's a blend of wilderness and civilization, creating a beautiful melody of the chirps of birds and the rustling of winds which leave the sweet yet sad scent of nostalgia. In a realm of nowhere, it becomes the haven for shattered and wounded souls, hearts that have endured the tortures of time and reality but cannot anymore, a sanctuary for recuperation, a shelter for the life remaining. This signifies the termination of both the journey of departing from the monotony of the known and the odyssey of experiencing the beauty of the unknown. This is home , my home. A home where I belong. As I lie upon the rustling prairies, harmonising with the symphony orchestrated by the chirping of the crickets and the gentle glow gifted by the fireflies in the serene stillness of the backdrop, the wanderer in me, the stargazer in me contemplates and tries to fathom, hear, sense the millions of stories untold of the aeons lost, of the ages swallowed, of the dreams absorbed in the vastness of the beautiful ballet above. To these whispers, I offer my reverence, my love , and declare, " Indeed, this is Freedom. " In the words of Walt Whitman, " Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, healthy, free, the world before me. " Image by lim chuan shin from Pixabay

Akira, a teenager is in conversation with the Angel-of-Death who is in the form of an old man. (A piece of Philosophical Literature) Why is it that I feel so oddly close to death? Is it something I want to avoid at all costs since I'm so afraid of it? Or do I yearn for it like a moth yearns for even a dim flash of light? What a mystery is death! Most people hate it and desire never to encounter it, but for some strange reason, my curiosity gets piqued whenever I see or hear about it. I want to know if it really is as horrible and terrifying as people make it out to be. Death is a subjective concept. Its semantics vary along with the varying situations, circumstances, causes and age of death. While patients who suffer from chronic illnesses typically see death as a release for all the suffering they endure throughout their lives, geriatrics would consider it as a peaceful destination that one reaches after a long and arduous journey of a life replete with agony and pain. Younger people would be terrified of it given how unknown it is, but because they tend to view things negatively, they imagine death to take the worst possible shape. When it comes to children, the most innocent of all human beings, they are usually taught by adults that it is something to be avoided, but they don't instinctively feel threatened by it. This often makes me wonder if death is really meant to be terrified of. Death gives life its purpose and significance. Sans any pain, there’s no happiness. Sans any suffering, there’s no love. Similarly, there is no life if there is no death. When our emotions are so intense, so fuelled with passion and fire, that we are unable to even articulate them for the fear of being burned or permanently scarred, we realise that language is but a tool for expressing what we can. The rawest feelings ever felt by humans are in some way or the other related to death and hence, inexplicable. These feelings are not temporal or palpable. Human emotions, including pain, sorrow, and even the simplest sensations such as getting goosebumps, are different variations of death's innumerable forms. Additionally, death is essential in order to let future generations enjoy their right to be born, cherish life and experience death, again, for the generations to come. I frequently wonder, “ Why do people crave the endlessness of life? The desire for this physical imprisonment, which is laced with never-ending moments of fleeting joy and hollow melancholy, greatly perplexes me.” Ironically, despite how often people claim to want to escape pain and suffering, we seem to invariably find ourselves at the receiving end of misery. Humans are, in fact, by now, accustomed, and acclimatised to sorrow and agony. We are confused, insecure beings who feel lacking in our mental environments when there isn't some hazy sense of poignancy always in the back of our minds. Humans are shown in their most bare, figuratively naked form, when they are without sadness, being completely open, totally vulnerable to the punishments and condemnations of the world. Death, for me, has always been a peculiar feeling of home . I can go back there after living a long and demanding life. It's a place, a state, or a circumstance that is unaffected, unperturbed by the ephemeral bitterness and transient sweetness of reality, of life, something that is always tranquil. It is free of all the ills of the temporal world, including all types of inequality, all judgements, commitments, disappointments, disillusionments, fetters of limitations, onus of expectations, responsibilities, as well as the feeling of fleeting attachments. Because death itself cannot pass away, it is beautiful. A sense that there is always going to be ‘something’ that will be constant and unchanging forever is what gives me melancholic and hopeless comfort. That there is a destination after all, that there is a place for all of us. It is reliable and worthy of our trust because it won't ever abandon us, or say, it can never abandon us. Alas, how ill the fate of Death is! It was rightly expressed by Oscar Wilde in The Canterville Ghost, “Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grass waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace. ” To be at peace, finally, ultimately. (Part-2 of the series, "Questions of Doom") Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

Sadness is caused by intelligence, the more you understand certain things, the more you wish you didn’t understand them. -Charles Bukowski It is a widely acknowledged fact that intelligence and sadness share a direct relationship. The more intelligent a person is, the keener their observation becomes. The heightened observation causes profound self-awareness. The more self-aware, the more self-destructive the person becomes. This all worsens when the person carries the bane of remembering every detail of the past, the burden of an excellent memory. For individuals empathetic by nature, this burden intensifies the pain. You see the dimensions of changes happen within yourself due to that ‘one’ instance, that one experience. Instances of such a type aid you in your destruction by making you self-aware to the point where you feel you are just a version of others. You start feeling that you are not special anymore, that everyone else is essentially plagued by the life they’re living. The more intelligent you are, the more profoundly you fathom that everyone else is trying as hard as they can to make sense of the existence they’ve been forced to experience and entertain. This realisation breeds empathy, recognising the shared humanity in the struggles of others since they all are parts of you made of the same atoms, the same elements, the same dust. Thereon, you cannot continue the petty enmities or enviousness you felt before. You try as hard as you can just to stay afloat, just to stay alive, donning that excellent mask of yours. You don’t feel superior to anyone, instead, you feel like you are a minuscule insignificant being bestowed with a tragically coincidental existence. One might contend that even though we’re non-existent beings on the face of earth, yet those stars, those planets, those comets, they are also as small and as insignificant as we are to them. Nevertheless, you are constantly stuck in this rut, in this dilemma where you can’t help but question every minute of your existence. You try to find people who share a similar plight as you in the hope of seeking solace in their companionship, only to find it draining, so you start humourising your hopeless situation, it’s all in the mind after all. You don’t fear death, you don’t fear life, you fear the daily mundaneness that comes along with life, you fear the uncertainty that looms around every minute of yours. You fear Time. I fear Time. This heightened awareness, a double-edged sword, compensates for the obliviousness of others, yet robs one of peace, plunging them into restless hunger and an eternal search for oneself. Aristotle’s aphorism, ‘The more you know, the more you know you don't know,’ reverberates with painful resonance. You start wishing for the time when you did not understand things so profoundly, when you were not this vulnerable, when your life was not this convoluted, when you were “you.” However, the inevitability is what one knows somewhere but cannot ever be completely aware of.  You understand the world a tad better, the universe little better but at the cost of your own feelings of self-worth, at the cost of your own blissful ignorance. No wonder Thomas Gray in Ode on a Distant Prospect of Eton College wrote, “No more; where ignorance is bliss, 'Tis folly to be wise.” It is like a contagion effect, one bad thing leads to another worse thing. First off, one gets the feeling that one exclusively gets to experience transcendental things while others are simply squandering their time undertaking futile tasks. At a later stage, one thinks that it’s better to stay alone since one is above others in terms of emotional and contextual intelligence. Lastly, as Carl Gustav Jung put it, “If a man knows more than others, he becomes lonely”, one succumbs to a bleak acceptance of perpetual doom and loneliness. The solution as Osho proposes lies in accepting and embracing a balance of  folly and wisdom, "A little foolishness, enough to enjoy life, and a little wisdom to avoid the errors, that will do." Image by Claudia from Pixabay